Tbilisi and Beyond: A Raw Guide to Georgia's Supras, Sulfur Baths, and Mountain Silence

Author: Elena Vasquez
Category: Culture & History
Country: Georgia

The first time someone invited me to a supra in Tbilisi, I didn't understand what I was agreeing to. Three hours later, I was seated at a table groaning under the weight of forty dishes, listening to a man in his sixties deliver a ten-minute toast about the nature of friendship while holding a glass of wine made from grapes grown eight thousand years ago. Nobody had checked a phone. Nobody was discussing work. The toastmaster—the tamada—spoke, we listened, we drank. Repeat. For seven hours.

Georgia does this to you. The country sits at the intersection of Europe and Asia, wedged between Russia to the north and Turkey, Armenia, and Azerbaijan to the south. It's been invaded twenty-six times in recorded history, survived seventy years of Soviet rule, and emerged with its language, its Orthodox faith, and its wine culture intact. That survival wasn't accidental—it was cultural armoring, and you see it everywhere.

I first came to Tbilisi in 2019 for what I told myself was research. I stayed three weeks. I returned twice more before admitting that Georgia had become something like an obsession. The wine gives you headaches, the toasts test your stamina, and the driving terrifies you. But it's honest in a way that sanitized tourist destinations aren't. The poverty is visible, the Soviet damage is still being repaired, and the geopolitical situation—Russian occupation of 20% of the country—creates real tension. What Georgia offers instead is intensity. When a Georgian invites you to their table, they're engaging in something ancient and serious.

Tbilisi: Layered History in a River Gorge

The capital sprawls across a valley where the Mtkvari River cuts through limestone cliffs. This geography dictated the city's development—Tbilisi literally means "warm place" for the sulfur springs that bubble up through the rock. But the real heat is in the architecture.

Sololaki: The City That Forgets to Be Modern

Start in Sololaki, the old neighborhood climbing the hill west of Rustaveli Avenue. The houses here are wooden balconies cantilevered over narrow streets, carved with motifs that blend Persian, Russian, and Georgian elements. Many are crumbling. Some are being renovated into boutique hotels. The tension between preservation and decay defines Tbilisi right now—it's in the awkward adolescence of post-Soviet reinvention, and there's something thrilling about catching a city mid-transformation.

Klike's Khinkali at 1 S. Chitadze Street serves seven varieties of dumplings from a basement space that stays cool even in August. Each flavour is stuffed with combinations of soft nadughi cheese, spinach, potato, sulguni, mushrooms, or the classic beef-pork mix. Expect a wait if it's busy—they cook to order. An Alkanaidze beer on tap and a plate of khinkali will run about 25 GEL ($9). The bar has a Lagidze Water fountain, a holdover from Soviet-era natural soda culture that's peculiarly Tbilisi.

Zakhar Zakharich on 25 Ingorokva Street serves khinkali that would impress in Shanghai—soup dumplings larger than Chinese xiaolongbao, filled with meat and spicy broth. The technique is specific: hold them by the dough knot on top, bite a small hole, drink the broth, then eat the filling. The dough knot is traditionally discarded on your plate, a small pile of evidence of your indulgence. A full portion runs 18-24 GEL ($6.50-$8.50), and the kitchen stays open until midnight.

Abanotubani: Sulfur, Sweat, and Silk

The sulfur baths in Abanotubani are non-negotiable. The brick-domed structures date to the 17th century, though the tradition is older—King Vakhtang Gorgasali founded the city here in the 5th century precisely because of these springs. Gulo's Thermal Spa on Abano Street offers private rooms with sulfur pools for 70 GEL ($25) per hour, open daily from 9 AM to 10 PM. The water smells of rotten eggs but feels like silk against your skin. The experience is unisex during the day, segregated in the evening, and entirely naked—no swimsuits allowed. Bring your own towel and flip-flops; theirs are worn thin. The full experience includes a kisa scrub—an aggressive exfoliation by an attendant that leaves you pink and newborn-soft. Add a scrub for 40 GEL ($14).

Nearby, Orbeliani Baths at 5 Abano Street is the most visually stunning—its facade is blue-tiled mosaic in Persian style, built in the 1890s. Private rooms start at 100 GEL ($36) per hour. Book ahead by phone at +995 322 72 30 09; they fill by early afternoon.

Narikala and the Peace Bridge: A Thousand Years in One View

Narikala Fortress overlooks the city from a hilltop east of the river. The walls are Persian foundations with Georgian and Russian additions layered on top like archaeological strata. Take the cable car from Rike Park up at sunset—2.5 GEL ($0.90) one way, running daily 10 AM to midnight in summer, 11 AM to 11 PM in winter. The view encompasses the entire architectural timeline: medieval churches, 19th-century tsarist facades, Soviet concrete blocks, and the glass-and-steel Peace Bridge built in 2010 by Italian architect Michele De Lucchi. Georgia's entire history is visible from one vantage point, and the metaphor is almost too perfect: ancient stone beside futuristic glass, stubbornly coexisting.

Fabrika and the New Tbilisi

Fabrika at 8 Egnate Ninoshvili Street encapsulates this strange moment. A Soviet-era sewing factory converted into a hostel, co-working space, and cultural venue, it's where young Georgians gather for craft beer and electronic music. Inside, FARM (Feast Against Routine Meals) occupies the former hotel breakfast room, run by chef Mashiko Zamtaradze who relocated from Kutaisi. The ajapsandali served over strained yoghurt with bright green adjika is a standout, as are the deep-fried pakora-like mushrooms. Mains run 18-28 GEL ($6.50-$10). The creeping plants and open kitchen make it a reliable lunch spot. But go two streets over and you'll find grandmothers selling churchkhela—walnuts suspended on strings of thickened grape must—just as they have for centuries. The neighborhood functions as a time machine if you walk slowly enough.

Markets That Remember

Dezerter Bazaar, near the central station, is where Tbilisi does its real shopping. The market sprawls across several blocks with sections for produce, cheese, meat, spices, and household goods. This is where you buy churchkhela from the source—taste before purchasing, because quality varies dramatically. A meter-long string costs 8-12 GEL ($3-$4.30). The spice vendors sell khmeli suneli, the Georgian herb blend that defines the cuisine, at 5 GEL ($1.80) for a generous packet. The market is busiest 9 AM to 2 PM, Tuesday through Saturday. Monday is restocking day and half the stalls are closed.

The Supra: Understanding Georgia's Ritual Feasts

You cannot understand Georgia without experiencing a supra. The word means "tablecloth," but refers to the entire ritual of feasting that structures Georgian social life. Birthdays, weddings, funerals, departures, arrivals—any significant life event warrants a supra, and refusing an invitation is socially complicated.

The structure is rigid. The tamada proposes toasts in a specific sequence: to peace, to the dead, to children, to friendship, to the motherland, to specific individuals present. Each toast requires a full glass of wine. Refusing is possible but requires explanation. The tamada controls the pace, ensuring nobody drinks alone and the emotional register deepens as the night progresses. By the third hour, people are weeping and embracing. By the fifth, someone is singing polyphonic harmonies that predate Christianity in this region.

As an outsider, you'll likely be invited to supras if you stay with families or join cooking classes. Taste Georgia on 5 Leselidze Street runs market tours followed by home cooking experiences with local families. The cost is 150 GEL ($54) per person, which includes enough food for two days and serious wine consumption. Book at least two days ahead through their website; they limit groups to six people to maintain intimacy with host families. The women who teach these classes are usually Soviet-educated professionals—doctors, engineers, teachers—who saw their salaries collapse in the 1990s and reinvented themselves as cultural ambassadors. They're sharp observers of Georgia's transformation, and if you ask the right questions, they'll tell you stories that reshape your understanding of what happened here.

Kakheti: Where Wine Was Invented

East of Tbilisi lies Kakheti, the wine region where qvevri winemaking originated eight millennia ago. The method is UNESCO-recognized: grapes are crushed and placed in clay vessels buried underground, where fermentation occurs with the skins, stems, and seeds. The resulting wine is amber-colored, tannic, and utterly distinct from European styles. When you taste proper qvevri rkatsiteli for the first time, it challenges every assumption you have about what white wine should be.

Sighnaghi: A Wall and a View

Sighnaghi is the regional hub, a walled town perched above the Alazani Valley at the edge of the Great Caucasus range. The views are genuinely spectacular—vineyards, mountains, and the distant snow-capped peaks. The town wall, rebuilt in the 18th century, is walkable and offers panoramic vistas. Entry to the wall walk is 5 GEL ($1.80). It's also becoming touristy. The restaurants on the main square serve decent food at inflated prices. For the real experience, rent a car or hire a driver (150-200 GEL/$54-72 for the day) and visit smaller villages.

Pheasant's Tears at 4 Baratashvili Street in Sighnaghi was founded by American expat John Wurdeman but works closely with local growers. Their tasting room offers five wines for 40 GEL ($14), served with bread and cheese, open 11 AM to 7 PM daily. The wines are natural—unfiltered, sometimes funky, alive. The saperavi (red) and rkatsiteli (amber) are the varieties to know. Saperavi is dark, inky, capable of aging decades. Rkatsiteli transformed through qvevri becomes something closer to oxidized sherry than white wine. If you're lucky, Wurdeman himself might pour for you and explain why he traded a painting career in the US for grape farming in Georgia.

Deeper Into the Valley

For deeper immersion, Lagvinari in the village of Tibaani, 15 kilometers east of Sighnaghi, offers winery tours that include qvevri-making demonstrations. The clay vessels are still hand-built by families who've passed the skill through generations. A full tour with lunch costs 120 GEL ($43), available by appointment at +995 599 18 46 56. Winemaker Giorgi Solomnishvili speaks English and explains the chemistry without romanticizing tradition for tourists. He'll show you the buried qvevri in his cellar, the must fermenting with stems and skins, and explain why Georgians never separated red from white wine in the way Europeans later did. The distinction, he argues, is a modern invention. Georgia never bothered with it.

The Mountains: Kazbegi and the Military Highway

North of Tbilisi, the Georgian Military Highway climbs into the Caucasus Mountains, following the route Russian troops used during the 19th-century conquest. It's still the only road connecting Georgia to Russia, and it passes through some of the most dramatic alpine scenery in the former Soviet Union. The drive from Tbilisi to Stepantsminda takes roughly three hours without stops, but you'll want to stop constantly.

Stepantsminda: Where God Lives

Stepantsminda (formerly Kazbegi) sits at 1,750 meters beneath Mount Kazbek, a 5,033-meter dormant volcano that dominates the horizon like a threat or a promise. The town exists for two reasons: the military highway and the Gergeti Trinity Church, a 14th-century stone structure perched at 2,170 meters with Kazbek looming directly behind it. The juxtaposition of human architecture against that scale of mountain produces something approaching the sublime—you feel small, appropriately, and strangely peaceful.

Hiking to Gergeti takes 90 minutes from Stepantsminda on a steep trail that starts behind the guesthouses on the main road. Taxis wait in the village square offering rides up for 50 GEL ($18) round trip, or 30 GEL ($11) one way. The hike is worth it—the views open progressively, and you'll avoid the tour bus crowds that arrive at 11 AM and depart by 1 PM. Sunrise from the church, if you're willing to stay overnight in Stepantsminda, is quiet and cold and extraordinary. The church itself is small, stone, unheated. Dress in layers even in summer; the elevation makes it 10-15 degrees cooler than Tbilisi.

Accommodation in Stepantsminda ranges from Soviet-era hotels to family guesthouses. Kazbegi Cabins offers simple but comfortable rooms for 80 GEL ($29) with breakfast and mountain views. The family speaks limited English but communicates effectively through Google Translate and hospitality. Dinner—khinkali dumplings, khachapuri cheese bread, trout from mountain streams—is additional and excellent at 25-35 GEL ($9-$12.50).

Juta: The Road Less Taken

Juta Valley, 20 kilometers east of Stepantsminda, offers more remote trekking. The unpaved road is rough but passable by SUV in dry weather. The trail leads to the Chaukhi Massif, a series of jagged peaks that draw climbers from across Europe. Day hikes are manageable without guides; multi-day routes into the range require local knowledge and potentially border permits, since the Russian frontier is close. A local guide runs 80-120 GEL ($29-$43) per day. The valley has a handful of guesthouses in summer but closes almost entirely November through April when snow makes the road impassable.

What to Eat (Beyond the Obvious)

Khachapuri is the cheese bread that has become Georgia's culinary ambassador. The adjaruli version—shaped like a boat with an egg yolk and butter in the center—appears on every tourist menu. Retro at 1 D. Gamrekeli Street in Saburtalo makes the definitive version. The cafe started in Batumi, where adjaruli was born, and their Big Adjaruli at 20 GEL ($7) feeds two comfortably. The dough is fired in a brick oven and comes perfectly crisp every time. There's even a "Titanik" with five egg yolks for groups. If you must choose one splurge, this is it.

For a simpler, more focused experience, try imeruli khachapuri—the round version from Imereti region. Ghvineria on 25 Iashvili Street makes excellent versions of both, along with proper Georgian salads that go beyond the tourist-standard tomato-cucumber. A full meal with wine runs 40-60 GEL ($14-$21).

Khinkali I've already mentioned, but the regional variations deserve attention. Leila's Khinkali at 10 T. Shevchenko Street in Mtatsminda opened in late 2025 as the city's first restaurant specializing in Kist (Georgian-Chechen) and North Caucasus cuisine. Leila Achishvili hails from Pankisi Valley, and her mountain-style khinkali use exclusively halal beef rather than the usual pork-and-beef mix, giving them a light, clean flavour. The jijig galnish (hand-rolled dough with meat and broth) and Kisturi Craft—a zero-alcohol beer brewed with hops and rosehips—are unique to this kitchen. Mains run 15-25 GEL ($5.40-$9).

Pkhali are vegetable pâtés—spinach, beetroot, beans—bound with walnuts and spices. They're served cold, often on the same plate with multiple varieties. Every supra includes several. The walnut is the constant; the vegetable provides variation. Salobie Bia at 17 S. Rustaveli Avenue, beneath the Rustaveli Theatre, serves exceptional versions along with proper shkmeruli (chicken in garlic cream sauce) and kharcho stew. The space feels like an artist's atelier, filled with vintage posters and mosaic fragments. Mains run 25-45 GEL ($9-$16), and the sour plum sorbet with white chocolate mousse is genuinely memorable. Open noon to 11 PM; reservations recommended weekends.

Churchkhela, the "Georgian Snickers," is grape must thickened with flour and poured over strings of walnuts. It dries into a leathery sweet that hikers carry into the mountains. Buy it from grandmothers at Dezerter Bazaar rather than souvenir shops. A good one has shine, pliability, and a slight tartness from the grape must. The mass-produced versions sold to tourists are chalky and oversweet.

What to Skip

Sighnaghi's main square restaurants look appealing with their terrace seating and valley views, but they charge Tbilisi prices for indifferent food. The khachapuri will be rubbery, the wine list limited to commercial labels. Walk five minutes from the square to find family kitchens with better cooking at half the price.

The airport taxi hustle at Tbilisi International is relentless. Men in tracksuits will grab your bag before you can refuse and quote absurd fares—80-100 GEL ($29-$36) for a ride that should cost 25-30 GEL ($9-$11). Use Bolt (the local ride-hailing app) instead. It requires a Georgian SIM, available at the airport for 10 GEL ($3.60) with a week of data. The Bolt pickup zone is clearly marked outside arrivals.

Currency exchange kiosks in the Old Town display deliberately misleading rates. They post the sell rate in large numbers and hide the buy rate—the one you actually get— in fine print. Avoid them entirely. Use your debit card at ATMs (widely available, particularly Bank of Georgia and TBC Bank machines) for the best rates.

The bar scam still operates in Tbilisi, though police have cracked down. Friendly strangers—often attractive women—befriend tourists online or in public and suggest a specific bar. The bill arrives with extra zeros and intimidating security ensures payment. Before heading out, verify any venue exists on Google Maps with reviews. If a stranger suggests a meeting place, choose it yourself.

Marshrutka minibuses for long distances are cheap (10-25 GEL/$3.50-$9) but the drivers are reckless, the vehicles often lack seatbelts, and they depart only when full—which can mean waiting an hour. For routes to Kazbegi or Kakheti, the comfort of a shared taxi (40-60 GEL/$14-$21 per seat, bookable through your guesthouse) is worth the extra cost.

The Peace Bridge at midday is overrun with tour groups and selfie sticks. Go at 7 AM or after 9 PM. The glass structure lit from within at night is genuinely beautiful; at noon it's a crowded catwalk.

Practical Logistics

Getting There: Direct flights from major European cities to Tbilisi. Wizz Air offers budget connections from London, Berlin, and Milan. Turkish Airlines routes through Istanbul for most North American travelers. The airport is 20 kilometers southeast of the city center.

Visas: Citizens of EU, US, UK, Canada, Australia, and many others receive 365-day visa-free entry. This policy, implemented in 2017, transformed Georgia's tourism economy. You can legally stay an entire year without paperwork.

Transportation: Tbilisi's metro costs 1 GEL ($0.35) per ride and connects the airport to the city center via the 37 bus (also 1 GEL, running every 15-20 minutes, 7 AM to 11 PM). The metro has two lines and closes at midnight. Purchase a Metromoney card at any station for 2 GEL, load it with credit, and tap in. Marshrutka minibuses handle intercity routes—they depart when full, cost 10-25 GEL ($3.50-$9) depending on distance, and are chaotic but functional. Rental cars run 70-100 GEL ($25-$36) per day; driving standards are adventurous but manageable if you've driven in the Balkans or Middle East. Note: do not drive mountain roads at night. Unlit switchbacks and free-roaming livestock make this genuinely dangerous.

Money: Georgia uses the lari (GEL). Credit cards are accepted in Tbilisi but cash dominates in rural areas. ATMs are widespread. Tipping is not customary but appreciated—round up or add 10% for excellent service. As of 2026, 1 USD = approximately 2.8 GEL.

Language: Georgian is unrelated to any major language family, uses its own alphabet with 33 characters, and sounds like nothing else. English is increasingly spoken by younger generations in Tbilisi; Russian remains the second language for older Georgians. Learning "madloba" (thank you), "gaumarjos" (cheers), and "khmaris mojava" (bless you, said after someone sneezes) earns genuine goodwill.

Safety: Georgia is statistically safer than most European countries for tourists. The exceptions are the breakaway regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia—do not attempt to visit independently. The administrative boundary lines are unmarked, militarized, and mined. The border areas with Russia proper are also sensitive; stick to marked trails in Kazbegi. In Tbilisi, political demonstrations occasionally occur on Rustaveli Avenue near Parliament after dark. These are generally peaceful but may involve tear gas if crowds refuse to disperse. Avoid the area after 8 PM if demonstrations are scheduled (check local news). Petty crime is rare but standard precautions apply: watch your phone in crowded markets, use Bolt instead of street taxis, and don't leave drinks unattended in clubs.

When to Visit: Spring (April-May) and autumn (September-October) are ideal—mild temperatures, green mountains, harvest season in Kakheti. Summer (July-August) is hot in Tbilisi (35°C/95°F) but perfect for the mountains. Winter brings snow to Kazbegi and occasional closures of high passes. January and February are quiet and cold; some rural guesthouses close entirely.

Dress Code for Churches: Women must cover heads with a scarf and wear skirts below the knee. Men must wear long trousers. Hats are forbidden indoors. Carry a scarf in your bag; most churches won't admit you without it, and they don't always provide loaners at the door.

About the Author

Elena Vasquez is a cultural anthropologist and food writer based in Mexico City. She has conducted fieldwork in the Caucasus, Balkans, and Andean regions, focusing on ritual foodways and post-Soviet cultural preservation. She first visited Georgia in 2019, returned three times before admitting she was researching a book, and can now identify qvevri wines blindfolded. She still cannot handle more than four hours of a proper supra.

Georgia does not reward the casual visitor. It rewards the curious, the patient, and the slightly reckless. The wine is older than European civilization. The mountains were here before human memory. And somehow, improbably, so were these people, speaking this language, toasting their ancestors in the same way, refusing to disappear. That resilience is worth crossing the world to witness.